


not brothers, just one

by TolkienGirl



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Burning of the Ships at Losgar, Gen, Halls of Mandos, Painnnnn between these poor little bb sons, Soul-sharing, this is in support of the theory where one dies but does not exactly leave, title is from Richard Siken too ofc
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-01
Updated: 2019-03-01
Packaged: 2019-11-07 06:35:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17955419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TolkienGirl/pseuds/TolkienGirl
Summary: You are two runners, two hunters, two halves of your mother's heart and your father's spirit.





	not brothers, just one

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mythopoeia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mythopoeia/gifts).



_they’re twins. The one on_  
_the left has gone bad in the middle, and the other one on the left is about_  
_to. As they wrestle, you can tell that they have forgotten about God, and_  
_they are very hungry._

 _-_ Richard Siken

You cannot go back to your mother. You were old enough to swear and be bound, to kill and burn and betray.

You cannot go back to your mother, but he was right to try.

 

You are two runners, two hunters, two halves of your mother's heart and your father's spirit.

 

He goes up in smoke, and worse than smoke. The others have to hear and see his absence, smell the dread scent.

You don't.

You feel him die as you felt him live: with you.

There is no word for what you feel. He was your word: he was you.

Sometimes you even shared the same name.

 

While ash still floats in the air, while your father--your father! speaks fell and fast with fire like pain behind his eyes, you feel your twin's  _fëa_ nestle against yours.

This is not peace, but it means you can keep on breathing.

 

Being the youngest means you get to watch every one of your heroes fall.

 _I miss them_ , he whispers, with your voice in your ears, and you answer back in the mind that now belongs to you both, _there is not much left to miss._

Nelyo--how long since you called him that! Now he is Maedhros, like copper that has been beaten into something too sharp to be beautiful. Yet Nelyo he was still, when the ships burned. How many of your brothers died that day, in spirit, and welcomed no extra and beloved _fëa_ within them?

Maedhros, then. Maedhros lost more than a hand, Maglor more than the brightness in his eyes. The rest are dead, and so there is not much left to miss, but you do not tell him that.

If his _fëa_ left yours and fled to the halls when it ought, he would already know.

 

You miss him, even if, joined as you are, there should not be much to miss.

You die. Does he die twice, then? 

You hope it does not hurt him.

 

Why did you not stay with your mother? You loved her no less than your father.

This could be true of you or him, or any of them.

 

You come upon gray halls amid unhung clouds, and he is waiting for you, a few paces ahead.

Perhaps each pace beats for the counts of time when you could not feel him at Losgar.

He runs. You run. You fall into each other's arms.

It is peace, if not quite breathing.


End file.
